Linen
by Vesperiansoul123
Summary: A boy from district 8 finds his life changed forever when he finds himself becoming a tribute for the 74th Hunger Games. Despite the cheery personality he seems to exude, this boy is determined to do whatever it takes to get home. Whatever it takes.
1. Chapter 1

Yo! Hope you'll read this story and enjoy it haha! If you really enjoy it, maybe you could review to tell me where I can improve? I would really appreciate it! I know I'm not perfect, but I'm wiling to work hard to make this a success. Btw, I'm sorry that you don't see any Peeta or Cato yet so far, but trust me they'll come real soon, like the next chapter! :) ENJOY!

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Lunging forward, I aim the knife straight at the heart, my target already locked in sight. It leaps back, it's hooves digging deep into the soil and trembling uncontrollably. Clearly unused to this form of backward movement, it's legs give way after seconds of fighting for purchase on the unrelenting surface of the soil, giving me the perfect opportunity to claim my kill. One clean stroke was all it took. The deer lay down on the ground, its blood pouring from its throat like a miniature waterfall.

I shuddered at the sight. Despite hunting being a relatively common occurrence in my life, I would never be used to the sight of a dead animal immediately after the kill, still ripe and flowing with crimson liquid. Hastily, I sever the limbs from the torso for convenience when transporting the deer back home and then to the black-market. It was illegal, this form of poaching of animals, which was ironic since the Capitol never really cared for the environment with their buildings and countless festivities which undoubtedly contributed to as much pollution as all the 12 districts put together and multiplied by a million. Okay perhaps the transportation and technology districts weren't so innocent of this crime themselves, but I didn't let it get to me. This was about survival after all, and everybody needed to make a living.

And while I multi-tasked, dismembering the deer into smaller sizes and letting my mind wander off simultaneously, I heard the cry of a rooster nearby, signaling the start of the curfew. I hurriedly wrapped the limbs up in a humongous rag I brought with me and briskly tucked it beneath my favourite hangout, which consisted of a broken rotting log situated next to a tall tree, which provided much needed shade when I cleaned my kills. Peacekeepers would become suspicious, if I were to be seen lugging a package of such great size around the streets after curfew. Besides, no one dared to break the law and wander off into the forest, which was equally dangerous with the countless evils which lurked in every nook and cranny. It would be safe, he concluded, to leave his kill here and return for it the next day. Currently, the problem was getting home without getting caught by Peacekeepers, as they would begin patrolling the streets on the lookout for rogue civilians who had the courage and foolishness(like yours truly) to be out at such an unearthly hour. I would have to take a huge roundabout path, which meant I would be reaching home much later than I had expected I would when I left the house earlier this morning. It wasn't fair, as there would be no one really to feed the family if not for the food I obtained by bartering my kills. Then again, nothing was really fair in this world, and deciding to prioritize getting home safely and not too late instead of engaging myself in a one-sided debate in which I would always come to the same conclusion, I leapt onto the trunk of a nearby tree, and began scurrying in the direction of the town lights.

"What were you doing young man? Staying out till such an hour! If you were caught I… I…" my mother admonished the moment she caught me sneaking along the hallway towards the stairs which lead to my safe haven. Shit. This was bad. Really bad.

"Give it a break mom! It's not like I got caught right?"

Her eyes immediately flashed an angry read, and right before the retort could leave her lips, I raised my arms in defeat, plodding over and wrapping my arms around her.

"Oh my dear, I'm really just concerned for you… I don't want anything happening to you, especially when you're out there without me by your side. Just promise me you'll be safe," my mother spoke, her tone noticeably calmer now.

"I promise mom." There. It always did the trick, and with that I climbed the stairs up to the refuge which was my bedroom, collapsing on my bed in extreme exhaustion. What a day it was. But at least I got something out of risking my life out there in the woods, and my mind began wondering off to all the things I could buy for her with the money I could get from selling the deer. Before long, I succumbed to my fatigue, and slept dreamlessly and peacefully.

The next day, was the day that many of us at District 8 have been waiting for. The Reaping, where this year's tributes would be picked for the Hunger Games organized annually as a way of commemorating the defeat of the rebellion by the districts 74 years ago. It served as a reminder for us citizens of the district, that no matter what we do, we would always be at the mercy of the Capitol, and the best way to survive was to obey their every order like mindless lapdogs.

As all of us children began assembling at the town square, I surveyed my surroundings, and began my yearly habit of guessing who the next pair of tributes will be. Maybe it's the boy from the small, family run eatery down the street, who looked like he probably wouldn't be able to lift a sword, much less kill with it. Maybe it'll be the star athlete of our school, who I've always admired from afar, and stalked whenever I had the time. It was an exhilarating thing really, to be following and watching your idol's every move and gesture as he wandered about town.

Of course never once in these games of mine did I envisage myself being reaped. That would be like a taboo, like cursing myself to be reaped. Besides, who would really want to imagine bad things befalling them, unless they were already planning their deaths and deciding that they would much rather-

"Ahem." My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a shrill voice alerting me to the presence of one who clearly didn't belong in these filthy parts of the world, like beef in my breakfast of stale bread and unripe berries. Oh wait, maybe that wouldn't be too unnatural, considering that I probably would have my beef overcooked or undercooked, if I could even lay my hands on such a luxury.

"Ladies and gentlemen." The Capitol escort's voice jerking me awake from my perpetual daydream. "Before we officially start this year's Hunger Games, let us first show you a film to give you insight into the history of the games." Oh not this again. It was just a load of bull put together by the Capitol, hoping that there would be some brainless idiots among us district citizens who would actually believe that the Capitol was treating us well and support them. Fat chance.

"…this is how we safeguard our future." With that, the film ends, and the escort reappears with a sickening smile on her face. And was that a ring hanging from her nose? I was beginning to believe my eyes were deceiving me. Surely no one could have such terrible fashion sense.

"Now, is the time you've all been waiting for. Who do you think will be reaped this year?" the escort smiles as if it were a light-hearted topic for discussion in which all of us would gladly voice our positive opinions. "Let's start with something different this year. To save them of getting their knickers in a twist, we'll start with the boys this year." Trotting over to the bowl containing the names of the boys, she reaches her hand in and slowly groped around. There was complete silence, and everyone held their breath for a few good minutes. At last, she fished out a slip of paper with an unlucky boy's name on it, and leisurely returned to the microphone.

Oh dear, wonder who it'll be this year. I began to contemplate my chances of getting reaped. I'm fifteen this year, and I should have signed for at least 4 portions of tesserae. That would be… Ah forget it. I've never been good with numbers anyway. At any case, my chances of getting reaped are probably pretty low, and hey, I've survived through 3 years of this already haven't I? No point worrying myself by thinking of the impossible.

The escorts inhales and exhales slowly, seemingly trying to subject us to even more torture as we stared at the miserable slip of paper clamped between her index finger and thumb. That bitch. As if it isn't bad enough for us. Just hurry the hell up and say who it is, or I suspect someone around here would be wetting their pants.

What happened next was entirely unexpected.

"Linen Pelletier."


	2. Chapter 2

Hi everyone! My thanks to those who favourited the story and subscribed to it, the story's gonna get better I assure you! Also, if you do have the time, I would appreciate reviews and all(not demanding though haha) cause they make this whole experience a lot more fun! Thanks again!

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Time seemed to be at a standstill. The piteous stares directed at me, the distancing from the crowd of my peers around me, the escort smiling her sickly sweet smile, urging me to come forward and up on to the stage. I couldn't believe what was happening. It must've been a mistake! Maybe it was someone else with the same first name. Besides, in the district it was common to name one's children after fabrics and-

"Linen Pelletier? Would you please come up stage?" the escort's shrill voice drummed in my head, giving me an awful headache. Visibly annoyed, I looked up at her, and took a deep, calming breath. I had to appear strong, there were cameras broadcasting this at the moment. Chin up, chest out, arms straight but not overly stiff. And was that a stray piece of thread sticking out of my shirt? Great. What a good first impression I'd be giving to whatever sponsors lay in wait out there.

I put up the false pretense of ambling towards the stage, my arm discreetly pulling the rogue strand off my shirt. Whew, now that was much better. As I climbed up the steps onto the stage, I attempted a smile for the audience and cameras. Glancing at the screens located at the back of the town square, my smile seemed more like I was pulling my lips apart and forcibly raising my cheekbones. Okay that wasn't going to work. Maybe sponsors preferred it when they're tributes appear to be more terrified and weak. More human-like, maybe that's what appeals to the sponsors. Which was an irony considering that these sponsors were far from humane.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't realized the female tribute had already been reaped, and I turn to face her. Whoa. She was nearly 6 feet tall, and of relatively muscular build. The exact opposite of me, who was considerably shorter, like five foot three, and made up of mainly lean muscles if that's what they were. She scowled at me as we shook hands. That decided it. There was no way I'd get a bad tempered troll as an ally in the Hunger Games, especially when I doubted that I would be of a healthy state of mind during the games, and this elephant of a woman definitely would not help.

As the mayor finished his speech, we were ushered into two separate rooms I identified as the place where tributes get to have a final glimpse of family and friends before their demise. It was actually more torturous really, to see the pain and worry evident in the faces of your loved ones, and they're words of comfort which seemed to achieve the exact opposite effect.

So I did what I was best at. Tuning my mother's voice out as she threw her arms around me and bawled her eyes out. I patted her back comfortingly, whispering to her that I would be okay, that I would come home. Which was an obvious lie of course, but one wouldn't be so cruel as to admit the truth to their parent, that their children were most probably not going to return and would die a gruesome death broadcasted for the world to see.

I was surprised when I saw a classmate in school barge into the room minutes after she left, clutching in his hand a necklace with the insignia of a flax plant. It was the star athlete, and his emerald green eyes were staring at me, seemingly trying to convey some secret message. I obviously didn't get it, as I just stood there dumbly, shell-shocked that a boy who I barely even knew came to say goodbye.

"I know you probably don't know me, and that you might think this is a little freaky, but this is for you." With that he walked over, and put the necklace over my head. I fingered the necklace awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Though undoubtedly grateful for the kind gesture, my overly imaginative mind suspected this act to be of not entirely good intent, somewhere along the lines of a… ploy. And then a realization struck me, and my face contorted with horror.

"Oh my gosh, my mother sent you, didn't she?" She couldn't have found out, I was an expert at keeping this stalking business as secret! But that would be the only explanation for this strange occurrence. She probably thought getting to meet my idol before I leave would make me feel better about this whole thing or something.

"What are you talking about? No, your mother didn't send me, I came here of my own accord. To tell you the truth, I've always been watching you from afar, following you everyday on your way to school. I know this sounds real creepy, but I really… Love you."

I stare at him, totally dumbfounded, though convinced that it was definitely not a ploy on my mom's part. The idol of my life confessing to me that he's in love with me. It should've been amazing, like a dream-come-true, only the problem was…

He's a guy. And contrary to popular belief, I'm a guy too. And 2 guys in love with each other, that's just… Unimaginable. Unheard of. Maybe even unacceptable, if the district community were to find out.

Suddenly, I wasn't excited or dumbfounded anymore. I was fuming mad, my face turning livid, then purple. This guy was messing with me, and he had to do it when I was already wallowing in self-despair and lamentation. Bad timing.

"GET OUT!" I yelled in frustration, my hands clutching my head and clamping my ears shut, as if trying to block out the external forces threatening to enter my brain and mess with my mind. As if the day wasn't messed up enough already.

"Wait, I can explain, it's not what you-"

"I said, GET OUT!"

At that moment, a Peacekeeper, probably perturbed by the loud commotion inside the room, hastily went in and came to the rescue, roughly dragging the boy before me out of the room. He tried to say something, but I couldn't hear his voice over the sound of the Peacekeepers boots clanging noisily as they stepped in and out of the room. I simply caught the last few words he mouthed to me just before the door slammed on him. "I love you, my friend."

I collapsed into the chair behind me, mentally exhausted and confused by the intensity of all the things being thrown at me. Being reaped for the Hunger Games, having my idol of all time confessing to me that he loved me in a non-platonic way. It was too much, and I was like a fuse, a time bomb, ready to explode at any minute or at the slightest external interference.

Perhaps I was a little mean too him. Too harsh. As I look down at the necklace he gave me, remorse strikes me like a tidal wave. He was a friend, probably my only one, and the only other person in this world who cared whether or not I was alive besides my mother. My outright rejection of his affection would have hurt him greatly; I should have done it more subtly, maybe not even reject it at all. He probably hates me now, and wishes that I won't survive the Hunger Games. Stopping myself before I lapse into severe depression, I force my eyes to look out the window, trying to find anything, anyone, to distract me from my thoughts which were flooding my mind.

The rest of the day passes by like a blur. Being brought to the train station in a limousine, being harassed by interviewers and paparazzi the moment we open the car doors, and hurriedly speeding into the train carriage. Our mentor should be waiting for us inside the carriage, our escort says. My district partner beams as she hears this. At least she seems excited about it, about doing anything to increase her chances of staying alive. I, on the other hand, can't bring myself to care at this point of time. Instead, I choose to retreat into my room at the far end of the carriage, which was my refuge, my safe haven.

Except it wasn't. The room was much too luxurious. Golden chandeliers, velvety, soft carpeting, a king size bed large enough to fit at least a family of four comfortably. Why would anyone need all these luxuries anyway? Then again, it's the Capitol, and rarely does anything the Capitol come up with make any sense, like the Hunger Games, or their horrible outrageous fashion, which seems to be a distasteful cross of an elephant in a tutu and a Christmas tree brimming with decorations.

Lying down on my bed, I try to get some sleep, when my district partner knocks on my door and informs me that the Reapings of the other districts is being broadcasted right now. Reluctantly, I crawl out of bed, slip on a pair of fluffy slippers(which I absolutely cannot live without; ask me if I'll take a haversack filled with food and water or a pair of comfy faux fur fluffy slippers during the Hunger Games, and I'll choose the fluffy slippers), and make my way to the living room.

Upon reaching, I immediately notice the absence of the mentor who was supposed to make his appearance earlier that day.

"Where's our mentor?" I direct the question to my district partner, but the escort chooses to reply instead.

"He needs to get something done dear. Some unsettled business. He'll be back soon I'm sure."

I nod in acknowledgement, and sit beside my district partner before the television. Its at this point I realize I don't know her name yet, but instead of asking, I decided to just wait till they broadcast District 8's Reaping, and I'll find out what her name is.

My attention is grabbed by a loud scream coming from the direction of the television. It was a blonde haired girl, decked from head to toe in shiny jewellery, but managing to look fabulous instead of tacky. Yet, I decided that I didn't like her the moment she opened her mouth and spoke.

"Hi everyone, I'm Glimmer, and I'm soooo excited to be this year's District 1 tribute! Let's kick ass this year!" She excitedly pumps her fist in the air, but no one applauds, or even responds to this gesture. She doesn't seem to notice, as she struts to the mayor's side and waits for the male tribute to be reaped. What a loser.

The District 1 male proved to be relatively unexciting. Aside from being tall, there was nothing that made him seem really outstanding, like a Career tribute. He was tall and lean, pleasant looking but not entirely good looking, and exuded the casualness of a teenager in an unimpressive way. Boring.

The District 2 female tribute, a girl called Clove, seems to be quite a formidable opponent. She walks with the quiet confidence of a panther, her eyes cold and calculating as she scans the crowd before her and faces her escort. She seems like the kind that would kill without a second thought, and then having her as an ally may not be such a bad idea. I make a mental note of this, as the camera turns and focuses on the male tribute who volunteers himself for the Games. Insane. Why couldn't he take my place?

I continue watching to find out later that his name is Cato, and that he is tall, has blue eyes and a murderer's instinct and lust for blood. These people were always the most dangerous and the ones to look out for. I could imagine him ripping out the throats of the tributes he kills and drinking their blood hungrily. Ugh, talk about bloodthirsty.

The rest of the tributes are relatively unexciting and don't leave much of an impact on me, so I barely pay any attention(though I did to find out that my district partner's name was Janet, a name totally unbefitting of her stature and mannerisms). Until it came to District 12, the coal miner's district, and I witness a drama unfurling before me as a sister valiantly steps forward and volunteers for her young, defenseless little sister. How sweet of her. The male tribute piques my interest as well, mainly because his name's Peeta, and I originally thought his name was Peter just pronounced strangely due to weird Capitol accent of their escort. He also has deep blue eyes, which brings to mind another male tribute of another district I saw earlier. These Games are actually turning out to be quite interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my god, I can't tell you how awesome the feeling's like, when you receive reviews from awesome authors whose fanfiction you read every single day(or at least every time there's an update) and practically worship! It's so awesome! Thanks so much to catOTPeeta, whose reviews have encouraged me to continue with the story! Hope you continue to read this and enjoy! - Btw, I'm sorry if you feel everything's going a bit too slowly! cause I wanna really like show what my characters are thinking and feeling and stuff at every point of time... Don't worry! It'll pick up real soon! :D

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Okay, maybe I take it back now. I nearly puked up my breakfast when I watched another year's Hunger Games being broadcasted on television. The victor of the Hunger Games was pummeling the soon-to-be dead tribute to a pulp with a huge piece of rock, and the entire process was being captured on screen. How the jagged edges tore into the tribute's skin, revealing the flesh and bone underneath, the impact of the barrage of blows breaking the tribute's skull, who was clearly dead by then. The camera then proceeded to zoom into the dead tribute's eyes, which were lifeless and unmoving. I shuddered as I look into those eyes which seemed to boring into my own.

Maybe that's what I'll be like. Lying down on the ground in the arena, the camera capturing a shot of my lifeless eyes as another tribute kills me. Well, at least the whole world will be able to see my eyes which are of the unusual shade of lavender lilac, the very ones my mother is so proud of. The ones that earned me my admirers back home, who flirtatiously bat their eyelashes at me every time we pass by each other along the school corridor. This leads me into wondering that perhaps, these eyes had also mesmerized the boy who confessed to me earlier. Maybe that's all that attracts him to me. My eyes. Well, once I die in the arena, I'll be sure to let him keep my eyeballs so he can admire them all day.

I pull myself back to reality, once again wondering how my mind can so easily wander off to such irrelevant topics. Turning to my district partner and fellow tribute, I force out a yawn and politely excuse myself from watching the rest of the programme with her. What's so interesting anyway, about the Head Gamemaker and his funny beard. And the fact that he's hinting about the environment and terrain of this year's arena.

OH MY GOSH! I listen intently, just in time to make out the words "humid" and "full of trees". There's no doubt about it. This year's arena is gonna be a jungle.

That isn't so bad, considering the fact that I can hunt and would therefore most likely be able to secure food in the jungle. However, I can see that Janet next to me is absolutely horrified at the aspect of fighting in the jungle. Hah! Bet she has never hunted before in her whole life. Maybe if she treats me nicely the next couple of days I might consider sharing half of my food. Or maybe a third. Or a quarter. Or an eighth. Oh to hell with it, I ain't sharing anything with anybody.

"Oh no… How am I gonna survive in a jungle?" I can hear her softly mutter under her breath, and I can't help but smirk maliciously. I hastily replace the smirk with a benign smile.

"Umm, Janet was it? Would you like form an alliance in the Games? We can be allies, and maybe I can help you with your problem. I can hunt you know." I put on the most innocent smile(and most probably the fakest) I can muster, hoping that it'll be enough to convince her. Clearly, it wasn't.

"No thanks. How do I know I can trust you, that you won't turn on me instead?" She waves me away dismissively, giving me another one of her renowned scowls. I could practically feel the irritation Stop that you bitch, it makes you look like a bulldog.

"Oh come on, I promise I won't. You can trust me can't you? Aren't we district partners? If you can't even do that, then who can you trust? Strangers from other districts? The Careers?" I push once again. This elephant is smarter than she looks, this is gonna be much tougher than I had thought it'd be.

She eyes me suspiciously, seemingly trying to figure out my true agenda, but fails to do so. After all, there's nothing to figure out is there? I was simply trying to form an alliance to increase both of our chances of survival. Emphasis on "both".

"Alright, fine." She succumbs, and I beam at her, my smile apparently infectious as she faintly smiles back. Oh wow, that was kinda easy wasn't it?

Bidding goodnight to my new "friend", I return to my room as my mind begins to process all that has happened. I'm currently on a high speed train heading for the Capitol, and in roughly a day's time we will arrive. I've also become allies with my district partner, and I'm planning to do the same for my mentor. Sweet talking seems to be my forte. Satisfied with the way things were going, I lie on my bed without changing into nightwear, and instantly fall into a deep slumber.

The next morning, after I got out of bed, showered and got dressed, I felt much better and refreshed like never before. It's probably due to the wonderful white rose shower gel which automatically squirted out from one of the openings in the shower when a button was pressed. It was awesomely really, not having to do anything but relax as the machine did everything for you, washing you up, scrubbing your body, drying your hair. As I made my way to the dining table, I noticed an unfamiliar face on the seat opposite Janet's.

"Linen, I'd like you to meet your mentor. This is Domett, the winner of the 65th Hunger Games." My escort helps with the introductions, seeming to be overly enthusiastic this morning. Maybe she's excited to be heading back home to the Capitol, to family and friends waiting for her back at her home. This causes me to think of my mother wistfully, and my small but comfy room back home where I would huddle in and do nothing for hours. Those days seemed to be light years away now, even though in actual fact I had only been reaped yesterday.

"Would you mind not staring? It's creeping me out."

Jolted awake from my daydream, I glare at my mentor, my dislike for him growing. "Well I'm sorry, you were so dashing that I couldn't help admiring your handsome features," I answered sarcastically.

He simply rolls his eyes and waves me away dismissively. "Thanks but no thanks. I don't do dick kiddo."

At this, I explode with anger, my body moving too fast for me to think rationally. My fist was within centimeters of his face when he raised his hand and caught it in his palm effortlessly. I stare, paralysed in shock and fear. I had messed around with the wrong person.

"Don't make me angry kid. I've got a knife here and tribute or no tribute, I'm not afraid of using it."

Our escort gives Domett an admonishing look, but says nothing as he grips my knuckles.

I immediately yank my arm away from him before he does anything to me, and obediently sit at the opposite side of the table, as far from him as possible. This is when Janet who had been observing this exchange silently speaks up, and I curse her inwardly for not supporting me earlier. Lousy friend.

"Domett, do you have any advice or tips to give us regarding the games? Like perhaps how to find food or shelter? Or how to secure weapons from the cornucopia?"

He takes in a deep breath as he swallows his food, and we look at him expectantly. Then he blurts out, "Nope."

Janet looks positively horrified, as I think I do as well. We have an asshole of a mentor who would no doubt be useless in helping us in mentoring or anything of the sort.

Janet tries again, "Surely you must have-"

"Nope." Domett replies curtly. Great, this was just great.

We continue the rest of the trip in silence, trying to keep pointless conversation to a minimum. Only our escort(whose name I realized I still don't know) remains in an enthusiastic mood, our sullen faces and snappy replies not doing anything to discourage or dishearten her. In fact, she doesn't even seem to realize that we were upset and intentionally avoiding conversation with each other.

"Linen dear, would you help me get the Avox please? I believe I must've misplaced my schedule planner somewhere around here… Oh there it is! How silly of me! Thank you dear."

I had to admit that despite her overly high-pitched voice and extravagant appearance, she was still a kind and lovable person at heart. Though she was dumb. Arguably the dumbest person I've ever met in my life. Except my history teacher back in school. Oh and the Peacekeeper who refused to buy my fabrics because he said I was a witch and I had turned a silk scarf(which was naturally white) into a black colour, using a mysterious, unidentified substance called dye.

Her next statement proves my point. "I've been wondering, why are the Hunger Games called as such when tributes are always provided with so much food even during the games themselves? I mean look at the number of privileges given and special events held during the games itself, like the Feast. And there's so much food supplied at the cornucopia isn't there? It just doesn't make much sense."

To save her from embarrassment and humiliation(though I doubt she'll understand that either way), no one answers her. No one even acknowledges her presence. Just pretend she never said anything. Anything which would reveal to the world how incredibly stupid she was.

She opened her mouth, and seemed to be about to say something, when Janet pointed to the window and exclaimed, "Look! It's the Capitol!"

All of our heads snapped to the direction of the window, and I saw the Capitol with my own eyes for the first time. It was beautiful, skyscrapers reaching the clouds, flashing, colourful lights and surrounded by tall, majestic mountains. It seemed to exude the aura of confidence, unabashedly flaunted by the grand architecture of the city. It was as if the whole city was surrounded by a mystical barrier, which kept the undesirable, ugly things out, and kept all that was beautiful inside.

"Its beautiful…" I murmured in amazement as I look at the Capitol, unable to tear my eyes away. Suddenly, the idea of the Hunger Games being the whole reason why I was there slipped off my mind, and I was excited and ready to venture into this new environment. I was like a kindergartener, overly excited about my first field trip.

As the train pulled in at the station, the magnificent view of the Capitol was replaced by the scene of a few hundred Capitol citizens crowding around the train, dying to get a glimpse of the tributes. I leapt back in fright upon seeing them. Literally.

Imagine my escort on sugar rush. Now, multiply that by a few hundred, and that's what I see through the window. There was so much pink, disgustingly bright orange and all the other eye-catching colours, it was like looking into a kaleidoscope. One of the citizens spots me through the window and waves excitedly. I return the gesture half-hearted and hesitantly, but it seems enough to sweep her off her feet as she faints and falls to the floor. Whoa, I'm like a celebrity now. I could definitely get used to this.

As we exit the train carriage, I look towards the camera and smile as sweetly and brightly as possible. Maybe I'll charm some rich Capitol dude or woman who will spend their entire life's fortune on sponsoring me. Which to be honest is not below the Capitol citizens, seeing as they can barely set their own priorities straight.

Our escort manhandles us into another car, which brings us to the Training Center. Unused to the consecutive use of such a form of transportation, I'm heavily motion sick by the time we arrive. Unable to speak, I signal to my escort that I needed to use the washroom, but she clearly didn't get the signal.

"Oh no Linen, we're taking you up to your room to get you guys settled down first. There's a Tribute dinner tonight, for all the tributes and mentors to mingle and socialize, and we can't start without you two. It's one of the things that happen every year, but is never publicly broadcasted. It's amazing I should tell you, whole roast pig, goose liver, steak, all kinds of food really!"

This only served to worsen the queasiness I felt, and I could feel my throat constricting. I wrench my arm from my escort's surprisingly vice-like grip, tearing off my shirtsleeve in the process. Bolting in the direction of the toilet, I collide into something tough and hard, and collapse onto the floor. Ah to hell with it, the Avoxes can clean it up anyway.

With that, I lean forward, and let everything out. It came out in waves of sickly green and pale yellow, remnants of my lunch of grilled chicken from the train floating in the concoction. It was downright disgusting. I look down onto my clothes, ensuring that none of it had gone on me. Whew, at least I vomited on the floor. Could've been worse.

Just then, the "floor" began to tremble, and my vomit slowly slid off its surface, revealing a something of a glossy black colour underneath. What's going on? Was there an earthquake?

I hear a low growl from above me, and I look up, right into the sapphire blue eyes of a blonde haired boy. Uh oh. Wishing desperately for what I thought happened to be untrue, I look down. No such luck. The glossy black surface was undeniably his boot, and it seemed like some of my vomit had gotten on his pants as well. I look up again and for the first time notice the expression of blazing fury glaring daggers down at me. Shit, I am so screwed.


End file.
